28 more days
by Xex Zrixiz
Summary: A new character who never made the cutting room. I'm just trying to shine some light on his story


The air was crisp, the night gloomy but this was no different than the forty others that precede it. In a town empty yet full; those that walked as living could only help wonder. "When will it be?" "Will it hurt?" "How long will I last out here in this utter wasteland—alone?" If one was to survive they could only dwell on such questions only a moment to catch a breath or glance behind into darkness—darkness that held the dead. Oh the raging dead how they hungered and longed for a feast.

Seth thought he had been running since it began. In the beginning it was tough. "Every one kept turning into those things." He reminisced "Every one: The girl across the hall with her jump rope, her parents, that crotchety lady from across the way with her fifty cast, the door boy . . ." The list went on. A once sickened stomach grew tough, as months of routing dead cities ended his queasiness towards blood and chaos. "I still remember it like it twas yesterday . . ."

"There I was sitting in my apartment watching the set with the news and the accidents, it was like pandemonium the crowds at the airport and the highways. I figured I was safer in my apartment on the thirty-second floor. I had roof access from my cupboard. Something about architect, most of the buildings around there are like that. I remember seeing the blood and crazed looks in those peoples eyes as the camera paned across the crowd they were eating each other alive. The reporter lady, oh I almost forgot. It's still so vivid in my mind. There she was on the floor of the airport terminal as the crowd was bloody crazed behind her. As she is reporting one of the people just started to stare at her. Like you see one of those jackals on the nature channel do as it looks at prey and it just charges her. The camera guy dropped the camera to try and help her but that psycho person kept attacking. All the while this is being fed live into my living room my safe living room. I keep watching and just as the camera guy gets the crazy pinned down, it lunges and bites the camera guy's ear right off. Next thing you know the psycho runs off and the camera guy gets this strange red look in his eye. Now this whole time the reporter lady is screaming bloody murder. Oh the poor thing she never should have been there. So as she is screaming and the camera guy is gushing from the wound in is head and—and turning all—evil looking. It was the craziest thing, one minute you think he's dying next, gnashing and severing the reporter lady alive. Then . . . nothing not technical difficulties, no weird beeps, just dead. It wasn't just the set, the lights, air, stove. It was all dead I went out into the hallway, neighbors—same. It was weird all of a sudden quiet (like the kind right before a bad storm) them every alarm, siren, fire warning went off. The racket was almost unbearable. Like a pack of sheep the people from my floor herded together down the stairwell heading towards the noise. I on the other hand was hesitant. However I often wonder could it have been easier to walk into those endless flights of stairs only to be mauled or just run and hid like some meaning less rodent. It still does not change the fact that I hid in my room hoping the screams then moans would go away but they did not go away it only got louder. Much to my surprise my door held, nevertheless, I knew it wasn't going to hold forever. It was only a matter of time. I remember having the most enlightening epiphany ever: my cupboard—the roof—escape. I was saved if only for minute. Rushing I cleared the shelves scuttling up the ladder as the hordes of "undead" piled in behind just as I closed the opening. Alas I was safe. Unfortunately with my roof access so came the neighbors as well. Stunned in horror as I watched bloodied arms and bodies try to squeeze as one into the narrow openings to the roof. I remember stumbling and landing only inches from the edge. I remember the cold roughness of the cement against my open palms and face. I remember lying on the edge of the cold roof starring up into the distance and just . . . letting go.

Cliffhanger suckers!


End file.
